We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.

-Anaïs Nin (via feellng)


I miss you. by by Koey on Flickr.
A child can teach an adult three things: to be happy for no reason, to always be busy with something, and to know how to demand with all his might that which he desires.

-Paulo Coelho (via feellng)

Teddy Roosevelt’s diary entry from the day his wife died. He never spoke of her death again.


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